


Hopes and Fears

by TravelingSong



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-19 13:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8210093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TravelingSong/pseuds/TravelingSong
Summary: "She's not quite sure yet where they stand, this is all new and fragile, but she appreciates his visit, his willingness to accept her earlier invitation. Surely that must mean something, the mere fact that he wants to see her. Maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay."





	1. Would You Mind Some Company?

**Author's Note:**

> A new story in four chapters. Red pays Lizzie a visit. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are always greatly appreciated!

It had started slowly. With apologetic looks and sober conversation, everything a bit too distanced, a bit too polite. Not much left of what they used to be. Her name formal on his lips, lacking warmth. The betrayal too severe and the wounds too deep.

It would need time, she had realized. But she had never been the patient type. And she just wanted him back. Her illusion of a _normal_ family shattered long ago, and what did that mean anyway, normal, it didn't mean a thing anymore. For a while she had believed there were no lies left, that a fresh start was in the realm of possibility, that she could escape her own life. Naive, really, she knew that now. And then the trust had been broken again and again because people simply didn't change that easily. And now her daughter was all she had.

Somewhere along the way everything had gone terribly wrong. And she missed him. She missed him so much. The criminal who had saved her. The man who she had fallen in love with. The person she had hurt the most.

Until one day he had stopped by with a gift for Agnes. And he had stayed for coffee. And they had talked. Not like _before_ , but different still. A step in the right direction, toward healing, maybe, or at least sympathy. She had been so desperate for either.

And then he had grabbed his coat and she had spoken quickly.

"You can stop by anytime, Red."

A brief smile.

"I'll see you soon then, Lizzie."

* * *

A week later he knocks on her door in the early evening.

"I thought I would try my luck," he tells her. "Would you mind some company?"

"I'd love some," she responds without hesitating. "Come on in."

She takes his coat and hat and follows him into the living room. For a moment she merely watches him, his back still turned toward her, his gaze wandering. He looks at home here, she thinks. He fits right in.

She's not quite sure yet where they stand, this is all new and fragile, but she appreciates his visit, his willingness to accept her earlier invitation. Surely that must mean something, the mere fact that he wants to see her. His eyes don't seem as cold anymore, his demeanor not as stiff.

"I made tea earlier," she says to interrupt the lingering silence. "Would you like some?"

"Tea would be wonderful, thank you." He moves then to look at her and suddenly seems strangely insecure. "Are you sure I'm not intruding?"

She wonders how long they will go on like this. She wishes she was brave enough to explain. To touch him. To ask for forgiveness. But she just nods.

"Yes, Red. I'm sure."

"And Agnes?" he asks.

"She's taking a nap upstairs."

His fingers are tapping nervously against his thigh. He still hasn't sat down.

"Red?"

"Yes?"

A heavy pause and a new beginning.

"I'm glad you're here."

* * *

It's during his fifth visit that things start to change more noticeably.

He joins her for breakfast on a Friday morning, coffee and a paper bag filled with pastries in his hands, a delicious selection from his favorite bakery. He seems more relaxed now, almost as if he had been looking forward to spending time with her. She would like to believe he did. She would like to believe a great many things.

They have quickly become her favorite part of the week, these unannounced encounters, like a comforting ritual. She finds herself waiting for a knock on the door, hopes it is him on the other side. They help her forgot what happened, what she did to him. And he never says a word. Maybe he wants to forget, too.

At least the way he called her name sounded beautifully familiar once again.

"Lizzie, there is something I'd like to ask you."

"What is it?"

"Agnes. May I see her?"

They still had a long way to go.

"You don't have to ask, Red. Of course you can see her. I'm sure she would love to see you, too."

She rises from her chair and urges him to follow her upstairs to the nursery. When she guides him toward the crib, he sighs in wonder. The little girl stares right back at him, eyes wide open and a smile forming, she recognizes him still, reaches for his finger as it brushes her cheek. Something like a habit.

"Would you like to hold her?"

But he's too spellbound to respond, the little girl's grip tightening and pulling, the moment too much to process.

And then Liz scoops her up and kisses her and places her in his arms. And then it all stops.

He recalls the first time he held her. An indescribable horror surrounding him, the memory of cold skin against his lips, an ache utterly unbearable. And then her, in the midst of it all, allowing his heart to beat. Not steadily, not yet, but more resilient than he could have hoped. Mending the broken pieces.

There was no way of changing the past. He knew that better than most. But for the first time in months he feels something like joy, something like happiness.

Because she is with him again. Because her daughter is safe.

Maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

"Hello, Agnes," he finally manages.

She blinks back at him drowsily, her hand slowly loosening its grasp. One final whisper before she falls asleep.

"That's a good name."

* * *

"I was wondering if you and Agnes would like to join me for dinner on Saturday," he tells her one day over lunch.

His visits have turned into somewhat of a tradition over the past few weeks. Sometimes he leaves within minutes, sometimes they talk for hours seated on her couch. About his travels, past cases, new developments, shared experiences, with a laugh or two in between and a gradually returning closeness. She dares to tease him again and he embraces it, reminiscent of the connection that had once changed everything, reminiscent of the relationship they used to rely on. _You're a terrible actor_ and _there's nothing wrong with my performance._ When things had seemed much easier despite the intricate circumstances.

And now, he is waiting for her response. And she feels so warm suddenly.

"Lizzie?"

"Yes, of course. We'd love to."

He's practically beaming, looks almost relieved as he nods briefly.

"Unfortunately, there's some business I need to attend to so I will take my leave." He swiftly rises and puts on his fedora and jacket before making his way toward the door, her footsteps following closely behind him. He turns around then and tilts his head- she thinks it's the most endearing mannerism and she'll tell him so one day- and smiles at her.

"Goodbye, Lizzie," he says and leaves a quick kiss on her cheek. "I'll see you on Saturday."


	2. Just In Case

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Red and Lizzie have dinner.
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos- it's always wonderful to hear your thoughts!  
> Also, regarding the show: Good things come to those who wait. Hang in there, folks!

She has been parked outside his safe house for a while now. She knows she is being silly, he's probably already noticed her car and is wondering what's taking her so long, but she's nervous. Her week had dragged by slowly and with every passing day she had become more anxious, still doesn't really know why because this was something _good_ , something she's been hoping for, something she doesn't want to ruin under any circumstances. Maybe that's what's making it so hard. The fear that things could still go wrong, that he'll change his mind.

But he wouldn't do that to her, she thinks. He would never do that to her.

With a sigh and a quick shake of her head, she reaches for the handle.

Everything would be fine.

* * *

"I'm sorry, I'm a bit early."

"No need to apologize, Lizzie. Come in." He steps aside, watches her move the carrier over the threshold, greets Agnes with a smile and a wink.

"Everything is set up in the dining room. Here, let me take your coat."

She puts the little girl down for just a second, takes off her jacket and scarf and hands it over. As she passes the kitchen on her way down the hall, she sees the assembly of pots and pans on the stove.

"You cooked?" she asks somewhat incredulously.

"You sound surprised." There's a hint of something new in his voice, something almost playful.

"I am. Though I'm not exactly sure why. You've always been full of surprises, Red."

His wardrobe is entirely inappropriate for any kind of housework, she notes, but it's exactly what she expected, a crisp white shirt, vest and tie. His idea of casual, domestic even.

The table is set for two, she had told Red that Agnes would be fed at home, but there's something else that catches her attention.

"You have a highchair?"

"Again, the surprised tone, Lizzie."

She scolds herself for her reaction.

"I'm sorry, Red. I don't mean to sound-"

"You don't. Truth is, I wasn't sure if Agnes would be asleep at this time of day and since I like to accommodate my guest with the highest possible standard-"

She interrupts him quickly with a hand on his forearm. She can't remember the last occasion someone cooked for her, made her feel this welcome.

"Thank you, Red. For inviting us." She wants to elaborate, wants to tell him how much this really means to her.

She doesn't. But he makes it easy, knows this is a pivotal step forward for her, too.

"You're welcome." They simply look at each other for a moment before he brings himself back to the present. "Now, I hope you're hungry."

* * *

She is. And she's is positively impressed by his skills. And she just might ask him to make dinner for her every night.

He's prepared a full three-course meal, but it's the crème brûlée at the end that might just be the most delicious dessert she's ever had the privilege of trying.

"This is amazing, Red," she tells him again as she takes another bite.

"Yes, Lizzie. You might have mentioned it before." He loves to see her happy, has missed her smile terribly.

"And I stand by it. Amazing."

He turns to the little girl watching them both, tickles her neck as her giggling turns into a yawn. He hasn't mentioned it yet, but he has planned for this, too.

"Lizzie, there's a crib set up for Agnes in the guest room." He doesn't want to pressure her. "In case you would like to stay a bit longer."

"Would you like me to stay a bit longer?" she asks carefully.

"I would. Very much."

* * *

"Since when have you had all this, Red? The crib, the highchair?"

They've moved their conversation to the couch in the living room, have talked for about an hour now with Agnes asleep in the next room, and she wishes time would pass just a bit slower or maybe not at all. She could sit like this forever.

He ponders for a moment but it's a simple question, really, and he wouldn't lie to her. He never lies to her.

"Since you told me you were pregnant. I thought that if you ever needed a place to stay…Just in case."

"Just in case?"

"Yes." He finds it hard to gauge her reaction, offers a lopsided smile. "Just in case."

She thinks she's never met anyone this thoughtful and considerate. And she feels awful. She feels consumed by guilt, still.

"Red?"

He turns towards her, waits for her to continue.

"I don't really know where to begin or how to do this because tonight has been wonderful, you've been wonderful, and I don't want to ruin our evening together. But if I don't say it now I'm afraid I never will, and that wouldn't be fair. Because there is so much I want to say to you, Red. There's so much I want to explain."

He puts down his drink and braces himself for what's to come, lets her speak.

"I know there are no excuses for what I did. I was scared and naive and couldn't think straight. I had made myself believe that this could be my chance of having a family, of having a normal life. It seemed tangible suddenly, and I lost myself in the illusion of it. After everything that had occurred I thought things could be different this time. A child, a husband. Stability even. So I made a decision and I…"

Her fingers are trembling and he reaches for her hand, holds on to it. She can't look at him.

"I was wrong, Red. And I hurt you. I hurt you so deeply and I'm sorry. I need you to know that. I made a terrible mistake and I don't know if you'll ever be able to not think of my actions when you look at me, I don't know if you can-"

„Lizzie, stop. Please."

She takes a deep breath, her voice suddenly resigned, her eyes impossibly sad when she finally faces him.

„I'm so sorry, Red."

„I know."

Her trembling has ceased. Instead, she's still and exhausted, feels drained of any strength.

He watches her from the side, watches her body sink down against the back of the couch.

It's a complex thing, forgiveness. Such a delicate thing. But he doesn't think of what she's done when he looks at her now. He just sees _her_. Sees the grief and the suffering and the regret, sees someone who hasn't quite healed yet but who is kind and gentle and loving. Who has endured pain and heartbreak just like he has. And he's so tired of waiting, so tired of the numbness that has overpowered him in these past months. He just wanted her back and now she's right beside him. He can feel her pulse.

"Come here," he says quietly. Softly tugs at her hand.

She moves toward him, closes her eyes as he puts his arm around her shoulder and pulls her against him. She feels his lips in her hair, near her temple, on her cheek. Listens to his breathing.

Something like comfort. Something like sympathy.

"I should go," she whispers after a while. "It's late."

The mere thought of moving seems like an impossible task, he feels like home, but she has taken up so much of his time already and she doesn't want to overstay her welcome.

As she sits up his voice stops her.

"Don't go," he says. "You don't have to. Stay in the guest room with Agnes tonight."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." He brushes his thumb over the back of her hand. "Stay, Lizzie."

* * *

The little girl is fast asleep when Liz enters. She looks around, checks the adjacent bathroom, everything is prepared, fresh towels, even a toothbrush, and she thinks she's made the right decision. There's a knock on the doorframe that makes her pause.

"I thought you might need some sleepwear." He walks towards her with a stack of clothes and puts it on the nightstand. "Just a small variety of options. If there's anything you need, my bedroom is right across the hall."

"Thank you, Red."

He nods and smiles at her. There's more he wants to tell her, but he thinks this will suffice for now.

He's almost out the door when he turns around once more. "Would you prefer coffee or tea in the morning?"

"Coffee."

"Coffee it is then. Goodnight, Lizzie."

* * *

She picks a white undershirt and black pajama pants, certainly a bit large but perfectly comfortable, gives Agnes a kiss on her forehead and turns off the light.

She thinks she might get some sleep tonight.

She thinks she can't wait for breakfast.


	3. You Know The Answer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kudos and comments. They are greatly appreciated.

It's still dark outside when she opens her eyes, slightly disoriented at first but well rested, Agnes perfectly asleep in her crib at the foot of the bed. She's not used to being the first one to wake, relaxing Sunday mornings have become more of an exception over the past few months, but it makes for a pleasant change. She wonders if Red is awake, if he's sitting at the kitchen table with a newspaper in his hands, if his habits have changed since their time on the run.

She gets up and makes her way out of the room, notices his closed door and tries to ignore the brief sting of disappointment, walks down the hall toward the living room instead. She's still dressed in his sleeping attire, the fabric soft against her skin, and she might just keep it if he doesn't specifically ask for it later. A souvenir of sorts, a memory.

There's something about this safe house that makes her feel comforted and welcome, the warm colors, the rustic hardwood floors, the overflowing bookshelves lining the walls. She runs her fingers over the leather-bound covers, it's a treasure trove she could get lost in, and comes across a particularly beautiful edition of _Sense and Sensibility,_ one of her favorites, one of the stories she turns to like an old friend. Maybe he'll let her borrow it. Maybe she'll ask him about his own interpretation.

"You're up early."

She jerks around to see him leaning against the door frame, impeccably dressed and with a familiar expression, that roll of his tongue, a heavy swallow, his gaze fixed on her wardrobe and the words caught in his throat. He's wonderfully flustered, she thinks. Not everything has changed.

It takes him a moment to focus before he moves in her direction.

"Where's Agnes?"

"She's still asleep. It's a small miracle."

Closer.

"Did you sleep well?"

And closer.

"I did. Perfect, actually."

She smiles at him then, he's standing right in front of her now, his eyes full of reverence.

"Red?"

There's no one that looks at her the way he does.

"Yeah?"

She's always liked his morning voice.

"I think you promised me coffee."

* * *

She checks on Agnes while he prepares something to eat, takes a quick shower and joins him minutes later in her own clothes and with her daughter in her arms.

"Good morning, Agnes," he says when he sees her, and it's the honest delight she cherishes now, the love he has for the little girl so evident. She practically adores him, has never cried in his presence, just stares at him contently whenever he's near.

Breakfast is strong coffee and french toast, childlike laughter and easy conversation, amiable banter and innocent touches. When she finally packs up her things two hours later, she surreptitiously places his shirt and pajama pants in her bag.

At the door she turns toward him, puts Agnes' carrier down on the ground.

"Thank you, Red. For last night, for letting us stay."

"You're welcome."

She doesn't want to leave.

"And we're okay?"

"Yes, Lizzie. We're okay."

She leans in and kisses his cheek, doesn't realize how his eyes close at the contact, how his head unconsciously moves forward when she pulls away.

"I'll see you soon."

When he returns to the guest room after she's gone, he takes the stack of clothing off the nightstand.

When he notes there's something missing, he smiles.

* * *

She calls him Thursday evening. It's raining outside and she can't seem to focus on the book she's reading, and the house feels awfully quiet, awfully lonely.

"Hello, Lizzie."

She's strangely nervous, convinced she is probably intruding, that he probably has plans tonight.

"Is this a bad time? Are you busy?"

"Nothing that can't wait for a while. And in any case, I much prefer talking to you than checking on my business ventures. Is there a particular reason you called?"

She doesn't know how to continue, how straightforward she can be. It's always been a problem with them, this lack of communication, _what do you want_ , and she's afraid of sounding too needy, too clingy, but he enjoys his time with her, doesn't he, and this should be a good thing. This could be such a good thing.

"Lizzie, are you still there?"

"Yes, Red, I'm sorry." _What do you really want?_ "Would you like to come over?"

She can hear her heart beating. He's taking just a bit too long to respond.

"Is there any special occasion?" It's an unnecessary question, really. It makes it sound like he needs a reason to see her. He doesn't.

"No, nothing special." A quick excuse to convince him."I think Agnes misses you."

It's not quite fair, she knows. She imagines him smiling.

"And you, Lizzie?" It's a little daring, a little teasing, a little something else.

He could always look right through her.

"I miss you, too."

She shifts and presses the phone closer to her ear, listens for a reaction.

"I'll be there in half an hour."

* * *

He had arrived as quickly as promised, had brought a bottle of wine for them to share, had wished the little girl a good night before they had left the nursery. They had found themselves on the couch a bit later, the set-up so similar to her Saturday night visit, but she feels more at ease now, more courageous, the conversation she had dreaded for so long finally a thing of the past.

She watches his profile and wonders what had changed that one afternoon when he had stopped by for the first time.

She wonders what had alleviated his trauma.

"Can I ask you something?" she begins.

"Of course."

"Why did you stay that day? When you came over to bring Agnes her gift, what made you stay?"

He shifts the slightest bit to get a better look at her, to make sure he has her full attention.

"I think you know the answer to that, Lizzie."

It's not what she expected, this response, and she's so used to him evading her inquiries, but it's more than that this time. Because she does know. Because she's always been scared to let herself believe it. Because it had always been that simple, it had always been that complicated.

Because he loves her. Because he's never stopped.

She doesn't know what to say, concentrates on the space between them. She wants to reach out and touch him, wants to tell him the truth, wants his warmth near her.

_I do love…_

But she's perfectly still. Just another question.

"Do you truly believe in second chances?"

"Oh, Lizzie." He pushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear, lets his thumb trace her cheekbone. "I wouldn't be sitting here if I didn't."

Suddenly, everything stops. For a moment he merely looks at her, studies her face for a sign, any kind of reaction. Then she nods almost imperceptibly.

Almost.

She follows his movement as he leans in, her eyes closing on their own accord. It's a careful kiss, gentle, his lips pressed lightly to hers and his fingertips brushing down her neck. A fleeting moment.

His voice is strained when he speaks, no distance between them.

"I should go. It's late," he says, but it sounds unconvincing, a statement of courtesy not conviction. It's what she had told him just days ago. It's his response she'll offer him in return.

"Stay."

She kisses him again, feels him sigh against her.

"Please."


	4. At The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have it, folks. The final chapter. This fic has been a pleasure to write and I hope you enjoy its ending. 
> 
> An update to Through The Dark should be up next :) Thank you for all the kudos and comments!

He looks captivated. Spellbound. Mesmerized.

A little lost. Wishful. Wistful.

Hopeful eyes and heavy breaths. His hand moving down her side slowly and slowly and _slowly._

His response so very concise, so very calm.

"Okay."

* * *

It's easy, she thinks. It's so beautifully easy. How he remembers which side of the bed she prefers, how he teases her when he finds his pajamas in her bedroom, _you could have just asked_ and _it was more fun this way_ , how he leaves her briefly to wish Agnes a good night, how he shuts off the light on the nightstand and turns to face her, how his hand finds hers beneath the covers, to maintain contact, to make sure this is real.

She likes to watch him even in the dark, when his features come gradually into focus, when they can share secrets and keep them safely tucked away in the space between them, when everything seems to fall into place and confessions turn into souvenirs.

She likes these moments because they're intimate. Because she had once feared she would never get to experience them gain.

"Red, would you do something for me?" she finally asks. "Would you tell me about yourself?"

It's simple, her request. In theory. And yet, no one had ever posed the same question. No one had ever dared to reach past the persona, had cared enough to peel away the layers. No one had taken the time.

"Where would you like me to start?"

She wants to fill in the gaps, wants to know him for himself, his past, his disappointments and heartbreak, childhood dreams, early ambitions and tragic choices, his desires.

The good and the bad.

It's time.

"At the beginning. Start at the beginning."

She can hear the lightest chuckle.

"That could be quite a long story."

She had hoped it would be.

"We have all night."

* * *

The first time she wakes, he's still sleeping.

She gets up to check on Agnes and returns mere minutes later, watches him stir, watches as his arm reaches over to her side of the bed. She can almost pinpoint the exact moment his subconscious realizes she is not there, and his eyes open swiftly, he seems worried suddenly, until he spots her across the room.

"Is everything okay?" he asks.

She nods. She thinks everything is far more than okay. She thinks everything is quite perfect.

When she joins him again, he turns away to grant her enough space. It's not what she expected, certainly not what she wants. She just wants him close.

"Red, come here," she whispers.

He shifts, pulls the duvet over the two of them and leans in to kiss her.

It feels like a habit.

* * *

The second time she wakes, he's looking at her.

She's not used to it anymore, waking up next to someone, but it's _him_ and it's comforting and familiar.

"Hey," she says somewhat shyly, his gaze unwavering in its intensity.

"Hey." His voice is rough and tired and wonderful, his face pressed against the pillow in the most endearing manner, and she thinks if most mornings could begin like this, she would wake up in a much better mood.

She doesn't know where to start, isn't sure if last night's words still rang true.

"Thank you for staying," she tells him quietly. It's a first step.

He smiles in response, runs his fingers through her hair and across her cheek, his thumb brushing her bottom lip. He might never leave this bed.

"My pleasure."

* * *

They spend the rest of the week apart, preoccupied with work and business dealings. It's not ideal, far from it, but he calls her Saturday night just as she turns off the light and it's nice to fall asleep with his voice by her ear.

He calls her again the next day, asks if she would like to have dinner with him Tuesday evening, tells her Dembe would be happy to stay with Agnes.

"Is there any special occasion?" she teases, makes him go through his own routine.

"No, nothing special," he says, embracing this side of her. "I'd just like to see you, Lizzie."

His winning argument.

"Tuesday sounds great, Red."

* * *

The restaurant he's chosen is located in a quiet part of town, sophisticated much like himself, and he leads her to the back of the room to a private table, takes her coat and pulls out her chair. When he sits down across from her, she can't help but smile.

"What's the matter?"

It's a sweet memory, that evening in Montreal. Another lifetime. He'll understand the reference.

"I think I'll try an aviation cocktail tonight." She wants to remember his exact expression, how he marvels at her, how he's positively in awe. "I heard it tastes like spring."

* * *

"Excuse me for a moment, Lizzie," he says after their entrées are finished.

It's been a lovely evening, their conversations so effortless now, their time together so cherished.

She couldn't have imagined that one fleeting afternoon would turn into _this_ , that a cup of coffee at her kitchen table would turn into an elegant dinner, that a timid touch would turn into a kiss. That their broken gazes and betrayed trust would turn into healing, into redemption, into love.

She's lost in thought, doesn't notice him return to the table, is suddenly brought back when a neatly wrapped package is placed in front of her and when his hand ghosts across her shoulder.

He takes his seat again, watches her expectantly.

"Open it," he urges her kindly, and she removes the paper a bit hastily, curiosity getting the better of her, and then she's speechless.

It's as beautiful as she remembered, the texture of the leather so intricate, the gilt letters reflecting the light around them.

_Sense and Sensibility._

She doesn't know what to say. Looks at him slightly confused.

"I noticed how you admired it the other morning before I came into the room." She still doesn't quite believe it. "It's yours, Lizzie."

"Red, I-"

But he doesn't let her finish, simply finds her hand across the table and covers it with his own, offers her a brief smile to make her understand. He just wants to see her happy.

"Thank you, Red," she finally manages, her voice a faint tremble.

He nods at her in a quick understanding, an unspoken reassurance before the moment passes.

"Now, Lizzie, how about dessert?"

* * *

The car ride home is spent in silence as she observes his profile from the side.

She feels certain now that she could have something like a family, that he could be there in the morning, every morning, that they could share breakfast and discuss new cases, that they could find comfort in each other's presence, that she would be perfectly safe with him, that he would hold on to her when she needed it the most, because he _has_ , because they have both found forgiveness.

She feels certain that he would be there for Agnes and watch her grow, that he would adore and spoil her as he always had, that he would carry her around in the crook of his arm with the brightest smile on his face.

She feels certain that this is what she wants. He is all she wants.

He parks the car in front of her house and follows her up the steps, a polite gesture, not one of expectation. He doesn't want to pressure her.

It's her who kisses him this time, who pulls him closer, the softest sounds and the warmth of his body, fingertips moving down his neck, tracing the lapels of his jacket, until she slowly withdraws.

"Red?"

He kisses her again, finds it difficult to stop.

"Yes?"

A second chance.

"Would you like to come in?"

Together.

"I thought you'd never ask."


End file.
